


fireworks in the fall

by remy (iamremy)



Series: askbox prompts (multifandom) [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fireworks, Fluff and Humor, Late Night Drives, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Weed Smoking, dean likes sam's butt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 16:47:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: ohnoitsthebat asked:Wincest + fireworks, if it wouldn't be too much trouble and you aren't overwhelmed? Love you ❤️





	fireworks in the fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [motorcitydreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/motorcitydreams/gifts).

> i love tina and i love tina's prompts! <3

Dean looks up from his book when he hears his bedroom door open. Sam’s standing there in his sleep shirt and boxers, looking oddly sheepish. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Dean replies. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Sam nods, entering and sitting down on the side of Dean’s bed. “Guess you couldn’t either, huh?”

Dean puts the book aside. “Yeah,” he says. “Dunno why, though.”

“I feel cooped up,” Sam tells him after a moment. “Like, restless, I guess. I don’t know.”

“I know what you mean,” Dean says, softening. The bunker’s large enough for them to get lost in – and they have, several times – and yet, after a lifetime of the open road, it can get suffocating at times. “You wanna go for a drive or something?”

“A drive? Where would we go?”

“Nowhere,” Dean tells him. “Just… drive.”

Sam shrugs. “Uh, okay, sure. Should I pack, or…?”

“Nah,” grins Dean. “Let’s just… go. Right now.”

“I’m not wearing any pants,” Sam informs him, raising an eyebrow.

“Trust me, I noticed,” Dean retorts dryly. “Pants are overrated anyway.”

“Says the guy who’s fully dressed.”

“Don’t argue, Sammy. Let’s just go.” And before Sam can reply, Dean’s getting off the bed in one fluid movement and snatching up the car keys from his side table. “Besides, it’s the middle of the night, man. No one’s gonna be around to care about whether you’re wearing pants or not.”

Sam makes a face at him as he gets up. “It’ll take just two seconds for me to find some pants–”

“No time!” Dean tells him, grinning, and grabs his hand. “Let’s just _go_–” And with that, he begins literally dragging Sam along.

“I’m not wearing shoes either, Dean!”

“Fuck’s sake, Sam_– _we’re just gonna be in the car, you prissy bitch, no one is gonna look at your stupid shorts or your stupid socks–”

_“_My socks aren’t stupid, they’re _comfortable_–”

“They look like something a grandma would wear, first of all, and secondly, they’re about three seconds from falling apart–”

“Like I said, _comfortable_–”

The pointless argument ceases only when they’re in the garage. Dean lets go of Sam’s hand to unlock the car and get in, while Sam goes round to the passenger side. Dean lets Baby warm up for a few minutes, the low purr of the engine echoing in the garage, and in the meantime he watches Sam out of the corner of his eye, watches him settle into the passenger seat, long legs crammed into the footwell.

“Quit staring at my legs,” Sam tells him.

“I wasn’t,” Dean lies.

“This is why you didn’t want me putting on pants, isn’t it?”

Dean puts the car into reverse and backs out of the garage door. “No idea what you’re talking about, Sammy.”

Sam scoffs, disbelieving, but chooses not to continue this argument. Instead, he asks, “So where are we going?”

Dean shrugs. “No clue,” he tells Sam with a smile. “God, you remember we used to do this all the time? Just drive and drive and see where we ended up? I miss that.”

“I miss that too,” Sam answers after a moment, and returns Dean’s smile. “But you know, it’s not so bad, having a place to come back to.”

“Mm, yeah,” agrees Dean. “Still. Should do this more often.”

Sam makes a sound of agreement, and then rolls down his window a few inches. The summer air is cool on his skin, and the wind in his hair feels nicer, and now that he thinks of it, he realizes Dean’s right – he can’t remember the last time they’ve done this. It’s always been some world-ending catastrophe or the other, with barely any time in between for the two of them to just unwind.

“You know what would be great right now?” Dean asks, and Sam turns to look at him.

“Mm?”

“A beer,” says Dean.

“But we didn’t bring any,” Sam points out.

Dean slows the car down and then takes a right turn. “24-hour gas stations, baby,” he says triumphantly. “Always there when you need ‘em.” The car doesn’t need refueling, so Dean bypasses that and goes straight for the parking lot. “Come on, Sammy.”

“No pants and shoes, remember?” Sam reminds him. “I’m not getting out of the car like this, Dean.”

“Ugh, fine,” says Dean. He puts the car in park and gets out.

Sam whiles away the time playing games on his phone. Dean returns around ten minutes later, holding a six-pack of beer in one hand and a small brown baggie in another.

“What’s that?” Sam asks him, taking the six-pack from Dean and putting it on the seat between them.

Dean grins at him as he hands him the baggie, and closes the car door. “Weed,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot. “Found a dude round the corner selling it, figured why not, right?”

“Right,” says Sam after a pause. “You’re not gonna drink and drive, though.”

“Yeah yeah,” replies Dean airily. “Like I haven’t done it before.”

“Not the point,” Sam tells him. Just to make sure he’ll be listened to, he grabs the six-pack and pulls it into his lap, the cans cold against the bare skin of his thighs.

They drive aimlessly for around half an hour or so, windows down and Allman Brothers on the late night radio. Dean half-hums and half-sings along, and Sam does too every now and then, watching the world go by outside.

He knows that the dark is mostly when everything evil in the world comes out to play. He knows he should be afraid, on his guard, vigilant and wary. He knows that the night is not ever as peaceful as it looks. And yet… Sam closes his eyes, indulges in the sensation of the wind picking up his hair and playing with it, and lets himself leave everything behind. Just for tonight, he can be a civilian, and pretend that everything’s all right and nothing lurks in the shadows.

Dean parks the car at the edge of the road just by a field, in a spot where the stars are visible in the night sky. “Come on,” he says to Sam, opening the door and getting out.

Sam follows him outside, holding the bag of weed and the six-pack. Dean goes round to the trunk and pulls out a blanket that’s almost as old as he is, and a wooden box that’s unmarked. “What’s that?” Sam asks him.

“You’ll see,” is all Dean says.

They walk at least half a mile into the field. The moon is a silvery D in the sky above, and visibility isn’t much, but they’ve got their phone flashlights to light the way. Sam can hear crickets somewhere far away, and the occasional hoot of an owl.

“Why does this feel like the first few minutes of a horror movie?” he mutters.

Dean laughs. “Come on, Sammy. You and I of all people shouldn’t worry about that.”

“Worrying about that is what’s kept us alive this long,” Sam argues back in a whisper.

“That, and a metric shitton of luck,” retorts Dean, not bothering to keep his voice low at all. He goes another couple of yards and then stops abruptly. “Here,” he decides.

Sam stares at him as he puts the blanket down. “You want to drink and get high in a field in the middle of the night?”

“Any other places you’d prefer?” Dean asks, sitting down. “Come on, Sammy, Ain’t done this in so long, man.” He pats the spot next to him.

“The things I do for you,” sighs Sam, and sits, crossing his legs. The summer night is cool on his skin, the slight night breeze making goosebumps erupt along his thighs.

Dean pops open a can, and passes it to Sam. Then he opens one for himself, takes a sip, and then says, “Right, okay. Where’s the weed?”

Sam hands it over, watching as he pulls out a Zippo from his pocket and uses it to the light the single joint in the bag. “Just one?” he asks.

“Yeah, for starters,” Dean tells him. “We could go back to him if this turns out to be any good.” He takes a drag, closes his eyes, and then exhales, long and slow.

“Good?” Sam asks.

Dean nods, and passes it to him. “Here, you try.”

Sam puts his beer down, and takes a drag. “Huh,” he says, giving it back. Dean grins at him, and then takes a gulp of his beer.

It makes Sam feel like a teenager all over again, sitting like this, cross-legged across from Dean on a thin blanket out in the middle of nowhere. They pass the joint back and forth between them, and Sam’s already beginning to feel it. He smiles, loose and happy; the last time they’d done this was so long ago he can barely remember it.

“I’d forgotten how much fun this is,” Dean says presently. Both of them are now lying flat on their backs next to each other, staring up at the sky. The joint’s almost down to a stub.

Sam turns his head and grins at Dean. “I think it was… mm, back when I was sixteen. I think?”

“Yep,” says Dean, popping the p. “Was a field just like this one, too.” They’re both on their third and last beers now, and Sam’s already beginning to feel the uncomfortable pressure building up in his bladder.

“I needta pee,” he mumbles.

“Do it, then,” Dean says.

Sam gets to his feet. “Okay. ‘M gonna do that. Gonna go and pee.”

“Have fun,” Dean tells him, completely serious.

Sam doesn’t go far, just a few feet away, for the illusion of privacy if nothing else. He shares decades of casual intimacy with Dean; there’s nothing to hide, nothing to be shy about. It’s not like Dean’s never seen him take a piss before, thanks to the lack of privacy that comes from sharing a bathroom for years.

He returns to find Dean sitting up, the wooden crate he’d pulled out of the trunk open in front of him. “Whassat?” Sam asks, shuffling over and squinting down at it.

“Fireworks!” Dean tells him with a bright grin. “I got fireworks!”

Sam laughs. “Why?”

“‘Cause we gotta do Fourth of July, man,” Dean says. “Didn’t do it this year.”

“I wanted to,” Sam tells him sadly, “but Michael was - was _possessing_ you.”

“Yeah,” says Dean, smile fading. “But he’s gone now, and I’m here, and you are too, and we can celebrate, right Sammy?”

“Right,” says Sam, and smiles at his brother. “I mean. ‘S September. But I wanna, y’know. Celebrate.”

Dean gets to his feet, and picks up the crate. “Okay, okay let’s do that. Fireworks.”

Between the two of them they manage to get some of the fireworks lit, though it’s made more than a little difficult by the fact that they’re both stoned. Still, they’ve got enough sobriety and common sense between them to retreat a few steps, and wait.

A few seconds later the fireworks go off with a whistle and a bang, bursting open and illuminating the night sky in golden starbursts. Dean laughs, loud and bright, and Sam can’t help it – he laughs too.

“Look, Sammy! Fireworks!” Dean yells.

“Like the Fourth of July!” Sam shouts back. Without really thinking about it he reaches out and takes Dean’s hand. “Dean!”

“What?” Dean says loudly, lacing his fingers through Sam’s.

“I love you,” Sam tells him. “Like, a _lot_,” he adds emphatically.

Dean grins toothily. “Love you too, Sammy!” he says. “More’n anything.”

“No, I love you more,” Sam argues. Dean’s skin is golden in the light from the fireworks, and his eyes are brighter than ever, and Sam just. Loves him so fucking much.

Dean laughs again, and turns his head, leaning in so he can kiss Sam. Sam responds at once, letting go of Dean’s hand so he can put both of his own around Dean’s neck. In return Dean places his hands on Sam’s hips, just over the waistband of his boxers.

They’re both too stoned to kiss properly, and it’s sloppy and messy and really wet, but what Sam’s lacking in technique he tries to make up for with enthusiasm. Dean’s in the same boat, clearly – one hand is fumbling with the waistband of Sam’s boxers, fingers struggling with the elastic for a few seconds before he manages to slip his hand under them and cup Sam’s ass.

“I like your butt,” he tells Sam when they break apart for air.

Sam grins. “I know,” he says. “‘S why you don’t want me t’wear pants.”

“Pants are _stupid_,” Dean informs him, and kisses him again.

The fireworks have fizzled out, leaving behind pale imprints in the night sky, and there’s not a lot of light, but Dean’s smile is clear as day and so is the soft, tender look in his eyes. Sam kisses him back for a few seconds and then tightens his arms around him, leaning into him and resting his head on his shoulder. “Happy Fourth’f July, Dean,” he mumbles.

Dean laughs, pulling his hand out of Sam’s shorts and returning his embrace. “You too, sweetheart.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed it please let me know in the comments!
> 
> love,  
remy


End file.
